Counting Stars
by hahaha12
Summary: Mary thought that LaPush was only home to grey skies and bad weather, little did she know that it was also home to a pack of teenage werewolves. So imagine her amazement...and anxiety when she finds out that one of those werewolves is 'in love' with her.


A/N - Sup? So, this is my first story on here...err, I'm not sure where it will go...but hey, give it a chance and if you don't like it; so be it.

*Set after Eclipse*

Disclaimer - I don't own Twilight or any of the characters from it's pages.

* * *

_'Fortunate people often have very favorable beginnings and very tragic endings. _

_What matters isn't being applauded when you arrive - for that is common - but being missed when you leave.'_

_- Baltasar Gracian _

**---**

I looked at the map for the eighth time with narrowed brown eyes, still sure that it was purposefully leading me the wrong way.

Sighing, I folded it up and put it on the dashboard again. This was hopeless, I was in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain and my car was getting dangerously low on gas. I just wanted to get to La Push already, which was odd because I'd never been so happy to leave the reservation three years ago.

It was so pathetic that I couldn't even remember the way from Washington state-line to my hometown.

_So_ pathetic.

There was always the possibility that I could be rational enough to just give in and call my dad, but then again that was only a possibility.

I was far too stubborn to let him help me anyway. So without a second thought, I re-started my little Mini and pulled back onto the tree-enclosed road. I'd never forgotten nor missed the gloom of the Peninsula, the merciless rain, the looming grey skies or the vast forest. All of these things were associated with Washington and I associated Washington with hell.

My Mom left when I was around eight, leaving me on the reservation with only my miserable old Father as family. Don't get me wrong, John Nolan is probably the best man I could've had to grow up with, but it's just not the same growing without your Mom. Maybe I'm just too much like her, maybe that's why I jumped at the chance to live with my Aunt in Sacramento when I was fifteen. Maybe I'm just too much like Dad though, maybe that's why I'm smiling to myself as I finally see the sign for La Push.

To be honest, I'm not exactly sure why I'm now driving down La Push Road towards the place I'm forced to call home. I could be in Los Angeles with the rest of my friends, enjoying the summer before we all go off to college, but I'm not. I guess it might have been Aunt Betty's chiding words about the fact that I _must_ miss the reservation; which I honestly don't. Thinking back, the chiding words had been more about missing Dad...

I nodded to myself slightly, knowing that I was only going there because I missed my Father.

I was sure as hell I wasn't going to stay long though.

Five minutes down the road, I was almost there and feeling knots in my stomach. Suddenly, I wanted to be in California again. I wanted to be engulfed by the safe feeling my friend's emitted when they cracked jokes to ease the atmosphere. I wanted that safe feeling and those jokes with me when I greeted my family for the first time in so long. The knots pulled tighter at the pit of my guts and I felt my face growing pale.

Part of me wanted to turn around while I still could.

But the other part of me was actually stepping on the exhilarator as the prospect of 'home' grew closer.

I tried unsuccessfully to remind myself that 'home' was not somewhere I actually wanted to be and that I was only going there because of my relatives. I tried unsuccessfully to get myself to slow down too, but before I knew it I was entering the reservation.

The large wooden welcoming sign swung slightly in the wind to my left, and the road lay ahead of me, leading down an all too familiar hill.

The knots got tighter once more.

Just as I was about to try and convince myself to turn around, my cellphone started vibrating and I couldn't help but sigh. After a moment or two, I realized neglect wouldn't stop the caller and I reluctantly reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed the little piece of annoying technology.

"Hello?" I asked in monotone, one hand on the wheel.

There was a long pause, then, "Mary? Mary is that you?"

The deep, scratchy voice rang in my memory and I smiled to myself again before mumbling a 'yup' into the receiver.

"I thought you'd let it go to answer-phone like usual, but anyways, are you near La Push yet?" Dad asked and I let out another sigh.

"Sadly, I am."

Dad's tone was strangely excited when he replied a moment later. The type of excited I hadn't realized a middle-aged man could be; like hyper five year old happy.

"Sadly?! _Sadly_?! Just step on the gas and get over here already!" I held the phone away from ear and stared at as if it was leaking toxic-waste.

"Umm... okay..." I muttered before hanging up and dropped the cell back onto the passenger seat.

Looking out of my window, I was now passing the trade-mark native houses made of wood. The fire-station was on my other side and I could even make out a few people now, going about their usual Friday activities. My engine spluttered helplessly and I didn't even have to look at my meter to know that I was empty on gas. I just had to get down the hill, just to my old house at least.

In my head, I was praying to a god that I didn't believe in that my Mini wouldn't give out just yet. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

My atheism was proved wrong when I pulled up in front of the small log house I'd grown up in. I let a smile of triumph play on my lips before it dropped and I remembered the anxiety I'd been feeling about coming here let alone actually being here. The anxiety was rising up like a tidal wave now, ready to knock me flat the moment I got out of the Mini.

I let out a shaky breath and reached over to open the door, but before I could the red front door of the house opened and a tall, bulky man stood in the doorway with a grin plastered on his leathered face.

Dad.

I then returned to my actions after a few seconds and got out of the car, immediately having to hug my thin jacket close around my torso. I'd forgotten this place was in the middle of a miniature ice-age. Rain hit my hair and I frowned as one drop landed on my cheek. Rain, cold and gloom: that was home alright.

"Mary!" Dad was already limping down, the grin so wide that I thought it would hurt his facial muscles.

"Daddy..." I mumbled, not really sure what to say to him. I wasn't usually lost for words, however this was a much anticipated moment for both of us.

"I've been waiting for you for hours! Oh well, your here now, kiddo." He engulfed me in one of his old, heart-felt hugs and I grinned in spite of myself. "Come in, then! We're gonna get soaked to the bone if we stay out here, weather-lady said a storm was coming," He informed me before ushering me across the muddy front lawn. My vans squelched in the wet dirt and I frowned, knowing they'd be ruined by the time I left.

Dad chatted to me mercilessly from the time we walked through the door to the point when he came back into the living room, five minutes later, with steaming cups of coffee.

Sweet, holy caffeine I love thee.

The living room was exactly as I remembered it; the beige wallpaper from the 80's, the furniture that seemed to big for the space between the four walls and even the same, old television set in the corner by the window. It smelled different, like air freshener mixed with tobacco smoke.

"...so, how was the drive up?" He asked, coming to an end of his stories.

I took a sip of the hot drink before I answered him, "Hell. I got lost more than a dozen times."

He laughed and I tried to laugh along.

"Well, kiddo, I'm actually meant to be meeting Joe Ateara at the Quileute bar in an hour or so. I thought you'd be arriving earlier, so I made plans for tonight..." Dad explained, his expression cautious.

"Don't worry about it, you go to the bar with Joe."

Joe Ateara was an old friend of Dad's, they'd grown up together and had basically lived their whole lives together. When I was little I used to call him and his wife, Uncle Joe and Auntie Evie. Then there was their annoyingly immature son, Quil, who even though he was the same age as me had acted like a five year old throughout the entirety of elementary and middle school. Our parent's had forced us to be 'buddies', but to be blatantly honest, I had always **hated** Quil Ateara and his little friends like Jake Black and that Ebony guy.

That was when I realized Dad was watching me with careful black eyes, taking in my expressions as I remembered the Ateara clan. What he asked next didn't really surprised me.

"You can always come with me if you want, I'm sure Joe would be mighty glad to see you...?"

I looked around the room quickly, at the dreaded picture on the mantle-piece where Dad and Joe had taken Quil and I fishing when we could only just walk and talk. The photograph showed me holding onto a fish's tail, screaming my head off whilst Quil looked like he was about to fall out of the boat. I hated that picture and often wished that Quil had fallen in.

With my eyes on the familiar yet unfamiliar little girl inside the frame, I answered him, "_Sure_."

**---**

At approximately 7:36pm we pulled up at Quileute bar on the far side of the reservation. There were a dozen or so cars already in the designated car lot and Dad pulled up next to a small Vauxhall Rabbit. I'd changed into some warmer clothes before we left and now I pre-cautiously pulled up the hood of my coat before getting out of the old pick-up.

"It's not raining, kiddo," Dad told me and I stuck my tongue out at him before unbuckling my seat belt and jumping to the ground. The slam of my door shutting echoed into the twilight that had befallen the reservation. The driver's door echoed a moment later and Dad was already half-way towards the entrance before I had even walked around the old truck.

"Wait up," I grumbled, but he didn't hear. He was at the door and looking back across the car lot for me as I dawdled after him.

Cursing my Father under my breath, I walked past him through the open door and was instantly hit by the central heating system that ran through the bar and the strong smell of alcohol was prominent.

"John, your finally her-" I recognized the voice of Uncle Joe, but his sentence was cut short as soon as he realized I was standing there too. "Why if it isn't little Mary Nolan!"

Joe sat at a table with five other men that I vaguely remembered, the majority of which with the trade-mark russet skin and black eyes we Quileutes shared. One of them raised an eyebrow at me and I noticed that he was in a wheel chair and had a white cowboy hat on. The man next to him was obviously not native, but tried to force a friendly smile.

"Yep, she's finally home." Dad said, clapping a hand on my shoulder as he marched me imperatively towards the table. That's when I noticed there was another table in the back where the occupants were staring at me.

They were burlier than the other guys in here, handsomer too. At first I thought they were triplets, but then I could see the slight differences between them. The one in the middle, who seemed like the skinniest of the three was staring back at me with burning dark eyes.

Everyone was talking to me, asking how California was and asking my Dad stuff. I wasn't listening, because I couldn't look away from that guy.

He looked strangely familiar, though he was obviously too old to be anyone I knew from the Tribal School. I'd say, 25... 28 years old? Give or take. But he was amazingly hot, strangely hotter than the guys sitting next to him. In fact I could barely register that they were sitting next to him now. He was the one I couldn't look away from.

And then, he stood up and after his first couple of steps I realized something...

That he was walking towards me.


End file.
